Steam from a cup filled three times over rises toward the white glow of a desk lamp. Scattered about are several stacks of materials and documents—page after page inked with legal terms. According to the clock, I should be winding down for the night, but instead, I’ve made do with a spinning desk chair. The soft embrace of a pillow is tempting, but tonight the proximity of aiding in the progression of human rights through my legal work invigorates me in the presence of moonlight. This is part of the future I see—one in which my days, and perhaps even nights, are spent engaging with the concerns of underserved groups and preserving their rights and wellbeing. I also imagine this work being transnational and entailing constant engagement with various peoples, perspectives, and issues. Each night illuminated by that glowing desk lamp would be a reminder of my passion for uplifting underrepresented peoples and expanding my understanding of different experiences. Although I am open to several pathways regarding the type of law I want to practice, international public interest law incorporates both my interests for social advocacy and language learning. Becoming a lawyer in this specific field would be nothing short of a dream. Despite my obstinate determination to one day achieve this goal, there exists some hurdles that I will inevitably have to confront and overcome. As a Black woman, my physical appearance and its accompanying connotations have often affected external receptions to my character. For others, the deep brown of my skin, the defiant coil of my hair, and my womanhood immediately link to “outcast,” “aggression,” or “incompetence”. Though I had no control over my being born this way, society already deemed me as unwanted and undeserving. Despite this unfair and groundless judgement, my complexion, features, and gender identity are all parts of me that I’ve come to love. In the face of systemic racism and misogynoir, my identity as a Black woman has become a source of motivation and power. Being extremely familiar with the way in which societal norms and law have been weaponized to subjugate entire peoples and continually oppress groups based on their identity, I desire a life in which I contribute to the dismantling of these systems. As an undergraduate student, I have prioritized taking courses that examine a variety of “alternative” histories and participating in mentorship and internship opportunities. I have done so with the intention of re-centering the focus from dominant social norms, practices, and narratives to the knowledge creation and modes of storytelling from “subaltern” groups. From my anthropology courses that explore Queer, Indigenous, and Black forms of narrative formation to my history class studying the legacy of resistance throughout Latin America, I have been able to develop various ways of struggling against and confronting larger, oppressive structures. Outside of academia, being a mentor for younger, Black and female students and participating in an internship focused on the significance of land rights on empowering Black and Indigenous communities has equipped me with the interpersonal and critical thinking skills that I believe will mitigate some of the obstacles I’ll face. I view constant learning, cultural immersion, and the cultivation of interpersonal relationships as ways that I will lean on throughout my life to address the difficulties posed by my identity. In the Western- and Euro-centric world we live in, my Blackness and womanhood will always pose a barrier; however, I am determined to leverage those parts of my identity to connect with others and encourage a broadening of how society protects the human rights, experiences, and stories of one another.

Poetry is a translation of that which is intangible and enigmatic. An art form crafted from the hues of the universe itself, the medium has offered me a lens through which to view life. I have been writing poetry since I was in elementary school. Initially, I wrote to verbalize my feelings because I struggled with anxiety and processing my emotions in a healthy manner. The more I wrote though, and the more I read the work of others, namely Maya Angelou, I began to find parts of myself plastered on the page. I glimpsed an existence slightly off-center with the reality society subscribes to, and I was immediately entranced with its sheer vibrancy. I write and read poetry as often as I can, and the experience of doing so is intensely fulfilling. When I’m not engaging with poetry though, I still try to incorporate the artistry of painting with language into other facets of my life. For instance, in my social science courses, the notion of the narrative is a significant component in understanding the needs and cultures of different communities, especially those that are marginalized. Storytelling is such a powerful tool in uplifting people and creating a more equitable society. The way in which we, in the West at least, approach narratives and recounts of “history” is rooted in colonialism and white supremacy. Consequently, poetry has given me the tools to diverge from linear constructions of time, for example, in narration, which many BIPOC communities do when narrating their own histories and creation. Poetry has guided my communication, shaped my perception of the world, and motivated me in helping to support underrepresented voices. Because of poetry, I have been gifted countless opportunities to view the human essence—the part of everyone that connects us.

“The Black woman is the most unprotected, unloved woman on earth…she is the only flower on earth…that grows unwatered.” This quote by Kola Boof, a Sudanese American novelist, is one that I deeply resonate with. An unwavering blossom in the wind, my mom reminds me of a star that refuses to burn out. She has shaped and helped craft my breath, my heart, and my entire being. Growing up with a single parent is a difficult and strenuous experience, but watching my mom survive every day in a world that does not value her existence has been one of the most rewarding and awe-inspiring occurrences that I’ve witnessed. My backbone is my mom; it is because of her that I can run excitedly towards my dreams, that I like the sound of my voice and the way my hair curls, that I revel in the way my skin browns as if kissed by the sun itself. My mom’s resilience and endless generosity has delicately molded my sense of empathy and my desire to uplift those around me. An incandescent body, full of warmth, my mom has allowed me to bloom undeterred and unfazed by the inequities that pursue all Black girls and women. I have survived and learned to love myself because the first image I saw after being birthed was a shining Black woman who smiled at me and told me that I was beautiful, that I was worth it, that I deserved to live.

Poetry is the vehicle with which humanity has created to capture the intangible, to birth beauty from nothingness, to grasp the depths of the unending universe. Since elementary school, this hallowed art has become intertwined with my breath and every thought. As a child, I struggled with anxiety. Considering that I was also introverted, verbally expressing myself was an overwhelming and arduous task. When I began seeing a child therapist as a second grader, I was gifted an item and an idea that would genuinely shift my understanding of the world and myself—those gifts being my first notebook and my introduction to Maya Angelou. I was shown the vivid trail of color left behind by feelings poured on a page; I had glimpsed a canvas dripping with dyed words and shades of human essence. Afterwards, I couldn’t bear to put down the notebook as I wrote every thought and feeling I had. For once, my anxiety was not entirely debilitating. I was learning how to cope and take care of myself. I carried this gift with me religiously and acquired many notebooks throughout years following. Nonetheless, on my 15th birthday, my most recent poem had been a letter admitting defeat to the numbing whispers of death. I had planned to end my life after spiraling into severe depression. Coming from a Haitian immigrant household, depression and mental health in general were not topics that were spoken about. Even my poems couldn’t hold such wretched illustrations, and so I was left to mull over intrusive thoughts and face the shadowy figure of hopelessness alone. Fortunately, as poetry had become such a major part of my identity, the remnants of emotions that I had reserved for the page were splattered on my hands and spilling outwards for those around me to see. I am now nearing the end of my freshmen year of college, and every birthday that has passed since, I remind myself of how grateful I am that I survived. I have also written many, many poems since that one, and each time I complete one, I feel a fulfilment that resembles the fleeting moments of a firework right after it has exploded. Language is an invaluable art. Consequently, my aspirations have always revolved around giving back to marginalized and underrepresented communities through language. I am currently pursuing a degree in International Relations with a double minor in French and Japanese. I hope to incorporate my love for poetry and language into a career that centers disadvantaged communities and peoples reshaping their own narratives and being shown that their voices are saturated with every color of the cosmos. I believe that I survived because of the support I received from those in my family and my community—the very people who are often shown that the world does not embrace them. Though I am still figuring out exactly what my career may be, I aim to use the future I was graciously given to create an environment where marginalized communities and peoples are uplifted, valued, and safe. I hope to share the lesson that poetry taught me—that a voice, no matter how quiet, possesses brilliant pigments, like the stars, that are capable of creating a painting so incredible, that the world can only stare back in awe.